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“Romantic?” I say, just as my eight-year-old nephew skips over.
“Is it time for a taste test?” Bucky asks.
“You think I should get him something romantic?”
Buck wrinkles his nose. “Yuck. Nu-uh. No way.”
“You don’t even know who we’re talking about,” Kayla says to him. Man, that girl has that mother glare down.
“I know he’s a boy,” Buck says. “That’s all I need to know.”
“Right.” I point to my nephew. “I’m with him. Besides, what constitutes romance for a man or any person anyway?”
“You mean, Ask Annie doesn’t know?” Kayla smirks and returns to her mixing bowl.
“Here, Bucky, beat up this dough for a minute.” I set one hand to my hip and turn full force on Kayla. She may be older and wiser, but I am confident in my skills.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Kayla says, rounding on her son. “Wash your hands first—and then you can beat up the dough.”
Bucky looks pretty pleased to be given permission to beat anything up, so he doesn’t argue. He hops over to the sink and turns on the water.
I wait for Kayla’s attention to return to me. “I do know. I just answered it. What constitutes romance for one person doesn’t for another. I think Owen will find this gift a romantic gesture.”
“Huh. Does that mean you have finally given up trying to find an out in this relationship?”
I swallow. “Maybe.” It’s difficult to lay in Owen Bailey’s arms all night long and then want an out. Everything in my body wants to stay put.
“Really?” Kayla’s eyes find mine. “So, you’re done dwelling on that idiot Maddox?”
“Hush,” I grumble. But other than Owen, she is the only person I’ve repeated Maddox’s words to. She, more thananyone, knows how they’ve affected me, even if I don’t always say as much.
I don’t say more than that. How do you let go of years of belief?
Two weeks later, I’m sleeping on Kayla’s lumpy couch. I’m pretty sure there is a Froot Loop stuck to the back of my head. Still, I’m here, ready to see her boys come Christmas morning.
And whoa, does it come. Early.
The sky is black, and I can’t read the clock on the wall in the dim light when the chatter of little voices wakes me up. I was there when Kayla told them that the clock must read six before they got out of bed.
But it can’t be six….
I hold up my phone, tapping the screen and cringing with the bright light. “One thirty-two in the morning?” What in the world is happening? If this is what it means to have children, I’ll be happy to be nothing more than an aunt the rest of my life.
Two gasps sound at the brightness of my light. And I hear Bucky whisper, “Abort!”
Two little figures race around the Christmas tree, hiding between the tree and the picture window.
“Uh, guys? I can see you.” I point my phone light toward the darkened tree.
A whimper sounds from their hiding spot, and I am up, tripping over gifts to get to them.
“Steve, is that you?”
“Nu-uh,” he cries.
“Hey,” I say, feeling a little like the Grinch. His heart grew toward children on Christmas day too. “Don’t cry. I’m not going to tell your mom.”
“You’re not?” Bucky says, peeking at me from around the tree.
